Ruined the Moment
by Miss Kisharoo
Summary: Another fic written for the Quidditch League Fanfiction Challenge.


In all truthfulness, Ron hadn't heard a more horrible sound in his life. It was like keening. It was blood-churning. It was completely, absolutely mind-numbing. It _sounded_ painful. He even _hurt_ for her. It was like the world was being twisted and turned, maybe like he was Apparating, except something had gone horribly wrong and someone had started screaming and...

Ron shook his head jarringly, trying to get the sound out of his head. Pieces of red hair flopped into his face, damp as his face was. His hands were white, gripping onto something. He didn't know what he was gripping onto.

Then, just like that, it stopped. The pent-up breath in Ron's chest was exhaled in a massive, broken gasp. He squirmed in his seat, loosened the tenseness in his face, and stared at the ground again. He counted the seconds before another scream would come. Another time when he wouldn't be able to do anything or even help...

He fingered with his wand. It was no use; there was nothing he could do.

Again, Ron cringed. It was like he'd been struck by Crucio. He grinded his teeth against themselves, sure that, by the end of this—_if_ there was an end, as he wasn't even sure anymore—his teeth would be little more than cracked stubs.

But, he realized, this shriek was different. It hurt his ears, seemed to ricohet against the walls, seemed to be constricting him and pushing him into a little ball of sadness and helplessness... There was nothing he could do. There was nothing he could say, for his mouth wouldn't move, he was grinding his teeth so hard. He couldn't even breathe, couldn't notice how blue he was turning.

And then it stopped once more. It was an abrupt stop, cut off and slight and replaced by another sound.

Beside him, his mother sobbed. Another new sound. It distracted him. Maybe that was good, but he wasn't sure. He wasn't sure of so many things. Nothing made sense.

It had all happened so darned quickly. He'd prepared himself. She'd surely prepared herself—it was all that she did for the past few months. Preparation, studying, working, thinking. The months had been full of exhaustion and growth, love and nervous squabbles. But all the preparation couldn't stop Ron from feeling more scared than he ever felt in his _life_. Scared for Hermione, scared because his mother was crying, scared because no one had come out of that blasted room!

Ron wanted to scream. He wanted to yell and punch the wall, find whoever was behind that door and shake them and tell them to let him come in… He wanted to tell them to save her from her anguish. He wanted it to be _over_ and for happily ever after to begin. But maybe there _wasn't_ any happily ever after.

What if she died? What would he do then? What would _happen_ then?

It all came rushing forward even faster than it already was. His life would inevidably change forever today, there was no doubt about it. The unknown was like a swirling mass of blackness in the corner of his vision, an emotional entity that could become a nightmarish monster or a bright glow of pure ecstasy. Now, it was just fairly neutral, a feared, swirling blackness caused by the unknown.

Ron swayed slightly in his seat. For a moment, he wondered if that blackness was actually rising unconsciousness, grabbing greedily at the sides of his vision, devouring his every whim until he tumbled down and missed a pivitol point in his life.

Once more, he shook his head jarringly. He'd forgotten that he'd done the same thing so many times in the last hours. It felt like the first time—the first time that he'd ever felt like he would faint, the first time that he'd ever felt like he would go into an insane frenzy of protectiveness and worry…

His mother stopped sobbing very suddenly. Her body shuddered as she held back tears—joy, sadness, grief? Their reasons were unknown to Ron. For the longest time, he thought that a person only cried when they were happy.

_Crying._ That was it. That was what he was hearing now. It was an incredibly shrill sound, forceful but yet somehow very delicate, as though it could be stifled in a fraction of a second. His mother began to blubber once more, even harder. This, joined with the new sound, sent a sense of urgency into his heart. Ron felt as though his ribcage was being constricted around him, killing him slowly with anticipation—good news, bad news? He didn't know. It could have been either.

He could take it no longer. "_Mum_—"

Hopelessly mute, Molly blubbered. Something about babies and her little boy and growing up.

"What's happening now? Is it bad? Is that why you're crying?" Ron asked it all in a nervous, shaking voice. The words came out within seconds in a quick, barely understandable succession. It was as though his mouth was only able to move for a small amount of time and thus he was trying to say everything that he needed to until his teeth were set to grinding again.

But his mother only stared at him in confusion, all the while crying.

Ron felt as though he was about to explode. He couldn't take it anymore—his heart was pounding, his brain seemed to be pulsating against his skull…

"TELL ME WHAT THE—"

It was almost ironic that the nurse chose that exact moment to come in. She was a flushed young lady who'd be quite pretty if it wasn't for her potbelly and slight double-chin. Her expressive face was contorted into a silent question as she looked at Ron, who had his arms raised to shake his mother by the shoulders. Almost guiltily, Ron turned to look at the nurse, but his guilt was smothered by nervousness.

At length, the nurse said, "Congratulations." Her head was still slightly tilted, and her voice held a bit of confusion—and maybe even curiosity—beneath the professional friendliness. "It's a girl."

It was like an explosion had happened. All through the walk to the room, he felt a tumult of swirling emotions. There was happiness, apprehension, fear, uncertainty… and then, in another rush, more happiness. As the door closed behind him a few moments later, Ron looked to his wife's smiling face and to the baby—_their_ baby—in her arms, and felt like the happiest man alive.

He counted his little girl's toes and fingers, touched her soft skin, rubbed the little red hairs on her head. The room seemed to be filled with excitement and blessings as he held her in his arms.

_She's so small,_ he thought.

Then a little bit of apprehension came into his mind. He looked up suddenly, scared once more, and voiced his fear: "It's a little small, isn't it?"

Years later, Ron still couldn't understand why Hermione had looked at him like that when he said those words.


End file.
